


Good Intentions

by Sylvanius



Category: PIERCE Tamora - Works, Tortall - Tamora Pierce
Genre: Alternate Universe, Drunken Flirting, F/M, Friends to Lovers, Pre-Relationship, Romance
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-04-28
Updated: 2019-03-19
Packaged: 2019-04-28 21:45:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,714
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14458407
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sylvanius/pseuds/Sylvanius
Summary: Moonlight, bonfires, and ale-Daine and Numair find themselves blurring lines one summer night. Post-RotG in an AU where Daine and Numair did not become romantically involved.





	1. By Firelight

Daine swayed, enjoying the warmth from the fire at her front, and the cool summer night breeze at her back. The pasture was a flurry of activity—the newly minted riders celebrating the end of summer and of their training. As darkness fell the party had expanded to embrace all others who were not above such pursuits. Stable-hands, palace servants, clerks, and even the occasional noble had crept into the growing crowd. Two more bonfires has been erected to light the festivities after the first was overwhelmed. 

Daine soothed a herd of ponies who were disgruntled by being displaced, reminding them that it was only for a night. A particularly cranky gelding replied that he did not like talking to her when her head was all upside down. She closed her link, giggling and taking another sip from the mug she clutched against her chest. She supposed everyone could use a break now and then. 

She scanned the crowd looking for familiar faces. If she was being honest with herself she was looking for one in particular—she had not seen Numair since before the last fire had been lit. She tried to silence the voice that said he had probably left with his companion; the tall, buxom, fair-haired woman she had seen him with.  Onua had been right all those years ago. He had a type--and it surely was not her. She supposed at this age she would have to accept that the curves she had hoped would fill in as she grew were not coming at all. Daine tugged at her shirt, unconsciously. 

Her eyes fell on Miri and Evin who were goading on some newly minted riders in a drinking game that Daine knew first-hand to be a mistake. While the status of their relationship was always touch-and-go, to be kind, you could  _ always _ count on them to make trouble together. Movement to her left made her glance over, and avert her eyes just as quickly. Gavin, a bit of fun she’d enjoyed several months earlier around Midwinter—and again when she turned twenty-one, was talking to a pretty red-headed cook. It had been  _ messy _ , but fun. Now it was something they didn’t have time to talk about between being too busy avoiding one another. 

She drank deeply from her mug, draining it, and moved away from the risk of having to acknowledge him. She deposited her mug on a table underneath one of the tents as she walked. She considered getting another but the slight wobble in her step and the happy feeling warming the pit of her stomach told her that that she was approaching the line of enjoying her night or loathing her morning. 

Cheers drew her to the furthest fire. She shivered and wrapped her arms around herself as she approached—she should have worn a cloak. She was thankful for the warmth even on the outskirts of the huddle. She peeked through the crowd circled around the fire and laughed. Sarge was performing a jig that looked as though it should be impossible for a man of his height and bulk. Onua was next to him, making this likely the only time the pair would be close in height, and attempting to match his movements but with far less poise. Daine sympathized with her friend, remembering her own attempts to best Sarge earlier. 

“Going to attempt a rematch?” 

“You saw that?” She groaned and turned to Numair who was smirking at the show in front of them. She absently brushed off the back of her breeches again, not sure if she had gotten all of the dirt off.  She noticed, enviously, that Numair was tall enough to watch without having to find an opening.

“Me and half the party.” He laughed and she felt herself blush, trying to push away the warm-fuzzy feeling that his laughter had induced.  

“Oh good,” she replied dryly, “when I begin my career as a great entertainer you can tell everyone you were there the night it began.” He laughed again and they watched until Onua conceded defeat, calling Sarge something rude. Daine licked her lips, sneaking a glance at her tall friend, and deciding if she should ask what she really wanted to know. Urged on by her alcohol-induced nerve she tested the waters. 

“I didn’t know you were still here.” She said slowly and saw him look at her from the corner of her eye. 

“I think we were missing each other—you know I wouldn’t leave until I’d seen all of my friends make fools of themselves,” he grinned wickedly, “I look forward to it every year.” It was her turn to laugh.

“I just thought maybe you had found more  _ enticing _ entertainment.” She blushed as her own suggestion—while it was not a topic they avoided it was not one they commonly spoke of either. Not frankly, anyway. There was a pause and Numair looked at her, as if he was trying to decide if he understood her. Finally he blushed and looked down.

“Just me tonight, Magelet. Isa left a little while ago.” Daine nodded, trying not to show that she was pleased, and her eyes fell on his hands. He held two full steins and she met his eyes again, raising an incredulous eyebrow. He laughed. 

“She left with her  _ Fiancé _ , actually,” he elaborated, shaking his head, “One of these is for you, actually. Although now I’m wondering if you should have it. I think you may have had enough.” He narrowed his eyes at her. She hoped she wasn’t swaying—it was a little hard to tell. 

“Sorry about your friend.” 

“Why? I’m not.” He shrugged and she smiled, pleased. Daine reached out and took one of the mugs, allowing herself to enjoy the tiny shudder that went through her when her fingers brushed his own.

“One more won’t get me into any trouble.” She took a sip and he did the same, shaking his head.

“Famous last words, my dear.” His endearment caught her off guard and she looked at him, but he was staring firmly ahead. It was hard to tell in the firelight but she thought she could see the ghost of a blush gracing his swarthy complexion. 

“Still looking for someone to sweet talk tonight, Master Mage?” 

“I’m not looking for anything tonight.” She could tell he was embarrassed and couldn’t lie that she enjoyed making him squirm. 

“Already found it?” She blushed at her own words and Numair took a long drink, shaking his head.

“Careful, Magelet. You’ll break hearts with talk like that.” He still wasn’t looking at her, though she noticed that he had shifted closer—so that their arms just barely touched. 

She let a silence fall between them. Their silences were always comfortable—that was one of the great things about their relationship. They didn’t need to talk to enjoy each other. This time, however, was different. It was charged—the weight of it heavy with something she couldn’t put her finger on, or was too afraid to recognize. 

She would be lying if she said they never flirted—it had become another facet of their relationship over the past several years as such things do—but it was always careless. The kind of dallying you do without thinking, design, or investment. The kind that makes a long journey less dreary or the stretches between lovers a little less lonely. 

It would also be a lie if she said that her mind did not sometimes wander during their flirtations—what would it be like for him to pursue her in earnest, for there to be meaning to his playful affections? She would be lying if she said she didn’t occasionally wonder what it would be like to be seduced by him—if she said she didn’t  _ want _ to know what that was like. 

She always tried to push these thoughts away as quickly as they appeared, though in some moments—like tonight—that was harder done than said. They lingered with her and in the happy haze of her mind she couldn’t help but let them remain a little longer in the firelight. 

She knew he didn’t see that way. She was surely a child, and always would be, next to the exquisite creatures he pursued. He was affectionate by nature and, she was sure, indulging her in their wordplay. 

“What’s on your mind?” He leaned over, so that his soft voice would reach her through the din of the pasture. She blushed, startled out of her fantasies.

“Why?” She didn’t look at him, enjoying the feeling in the pit of her stomach from his closeness.

“You look,” he paused, thoughtful, and straightened. She heard him exhale as the distance between them increased--felt just a whisper of his breath on her neck. He chuckled softly, “Are  _ you _ looking for something tonight?” She looked up at him, raising an eyebrow. 

“Maybe I am.” She leaned over, ever so slightly—just enough to press a little more firmly against him. He took a large swig and chortled again. 

“I need another drink.” 

Despite the hour the celebration was still travelling to a peak as Numair nursed another drink. Neither of them were regular drinkers, but she had to admit she was enjoying watching him let loose as much as she had. Urged on by Daine, Numair had taken a stab at Sarge’s jig, but was considerably less graceful. Daine laughed so hard she nearly cried at the sight of his long limbs flailing about—nearly landing in the fire at one point. He had sulked back to her, a little dustier and considerably more embarrassed than when he had left. 

“Drink up my lovely, graceless little pets.” Sarge found them not too soon after, clutching three cups of whiskey. 

“I don’t think so.” Numair tried to refuse but Sarge pushed the drink into the mage’s hand. 

“It’s my prize for besting each of you. You don’t have a choice.” He winked at Daine and handed her a drink. She noticed that her’s was considerably less full than either of theirs. Numair did as well and evoked a booming laugh from Sarge when he brought it up.

“We’re both twice of her, aren’t we?” He downed his in one large gulp. Daine shrugged at Numair and followed suit, making a face as the liquid burned its way down her throat. Numair, looking decidedly uneasy, did the same and coughed violently. Sarge shook his head and wandered away muttering about mages who couldn’t dance, and couldn’t drink. 

“Have I not been embarrassed enough tonight?” He asked when he had finally caught his breath. 

Sarge managed to cajole them into one more drink before the night was through, and needless to say they were both feeling the effects by the time the fires began to die down and the revelers begin to disperse. 

The pair found themselves reclining on some hay bales, tucked away from the center of the merriment and content to chat and watch the mischief unfolding before them. They were nearly flattened by a couple who has snuck away and not seen them, concealed in the dark, until they were almost on top of them—literally—but had had no interruptions since. 

Numair had complained of the cold, so far away from the fire, and Daine had snuggled under the crook of his arm and told him she would keep him warm. He did not protest and rested his arm around her, pulling her just a little bit closer. Daine turned onto her side, pressing the length of her body against his and sliding a leg over his. She sighed, happily, and rested her hand on his chest. 

“Daine,” he murmured when she slid her hand underneath his cloak and began to trace circles in the chest hair peeking from the neckline of his shirt. 

“Yes?” She snuggled closer, playing coy. Her hazy mind had no thought for any consequences beyond the heat of his body against hers. 

He sighed and smiled, settling. “Nothing.” She smiled too, content focus on the feel of his chest beneath her hand. While he was generally affectionate with her he was usually quick to pull back from too much physical contact--he said it was distracting. A glint of light caught her attention from the corner of her eye. 

“There! A shooting star!” Daine pointed to the sky, pulling her hand from the warmth of his cloak. “Make a wish!” She turned to him, face only inches away from his own. “Make it something good.”

“Something good? And here I was going to wish for something mediocre,” he drawled, watching the sky. She pinched his side, softly, but laughed.  

“What did you wish for?” She felt her breath hitch when he turned  to look at her, keenly aware of the scant distance between them. 

“I’m not supposed to  _ tell _ you. I’m pretty sure that’s a rule.” 

She pouted, stomach dropping when his gaze fell to her lips. “I think there’s a loophole.” She said, earnestly. 

“Oh, really?”

“Yes, I think if we both tell it’s fine.” 

“Is that so?”

“Yes,” she giggled and he couldn’t help but join her--drink and the late hour affecting both of their humors. “Tell me yours and I’ll tell you mine.” She shifted again, now laying more on top of him than against him, and the movement brought them closer. She hoped she sounded calmer than she felt. His nearness was making her lightheaded--or perhaps it was the drink. Either way, she was finding it difficult to focus on anything other than him. 

“I won’t be tricked that easily,” he murmured, breath tickling her lips. 

“Of course not, a great mage like you won’t give up something for  _ nothing _ ,” she grinned, leaning closer and meeting his eye from beneath long lashes before she knew what she was doing. Even in her drunkenness she knew this moment. An invitation. The moment stretched out until Numair pulled back with a strangled laugh.

“I think it’s time to get you inside.” He sat up, pulling her with him, and she released a breath she didn’t know she had been holding. She was sure she was blushing, but was also sure she wasn’t the only one. 

“Why?” She pouted, bits of hay sticking out from her curls. 

“It’s late, and cold.” He shivered for emphasis.

“Was I not keeping you warm enough?” She giggled again.

“That seems like a question I’d be better off avoiding.” He stood, holding out his hand to help her up. She accepted and he pulled her to him, both of them stumbling. Daine fell and Numair nearly went with her, barely maintaining his own balance before pulling her up once more and sliding a hand around her waist to hold her--and himself--steady. 

The walked together--leaning on one another for support--as Daine used her free hand to pick bits of hay from her clothing and hair. 

“You’re drunk,” she laughed when he stumbled next. 

“ _ You’re _ drunk.” He shot back as they nearly avoided walking into a fence. 

“We’re _ both _ drunk.” She plucked a strand of hay from behind his ear, slurring her words. “You know, I don’t think we’ve  _ ever _ been drunk together.”

“That can’t be true.” He shook his head. “The Rider’s party three summer’s ago--”

“No,  _ I _ was drunk. Sarge convinced me to play that drinking game. You held my hair back and gave him a lecture.”

“When you and Lindhall were at my tower last summer.” 

“No,  _ you _ and Lindhall were  _ very _ drunk. I held  _ your _ hair back and learned far too much about your,” she shot him a sour look, “former lovers.” 

“Ah, yes. We do not need to relive that night.”

“Oh no, it was all very enlightening.” 

“You’re a woman of many interests.” He partially trampled a bush as they stopped at her door.

“Not really,” she eyed him as slyly as someone who was made up of at least half alcohol could. “I like drinking with you, though.”

“Is that so?”

“I like doing everything with you.” She leaned against her door. “I like doing new things with you.”

“New things?” He leaned over her, moonlight allowing her to make out his features--barely.

“Yes,” she murmured, “like drinking.” She felt breathless, suddenly, and looked down. 

“I like doing things with you, too.” He said quietly and she smiled, swaying in place and turning her attention to her door. 

She fumbled for a moment before the lock clicked and she tottered in, laughing and nearly falling again. 

“Careful.” Numair chided, following her and swearing when he stumbled over the threshold. He moved past her as she closed the door and lit the lantern on her dresser. He stayed with his back turned to her for a moment before turning around and flashing her a smile. 

“I should let you get some sleep.” He took a step and she moved to let him pass, leaning against the wall. He paused when his hand was on the handle, hovering over her and peering at her intently. 

“Will you be alright?” He placed a hand under her chin, guiding her face upwards to get a better look at her.

“Your hands are still cold,” she murmured, meeting his gaze through her lashes. 

“What?” He barely had time to speak before she covered his hand with her own and closed the distance between them, crushing her lips against his own. 


	2. By Light of Day

Daine's lips pressed against his own—clumsy, and tasting of ale and whiskey, and irresistible. Despite himself, and despite all the things he had spent the long walk saying he would not do he kissed her back in earnest, pressing down and losing himself in her.

Her tongue flicked against his lips, coaxing him, and he tasted whiskey again—the sensation bringing him back to awareness. Back to the cold night air and the dark room where only his dreams had been before. Where the familiar pull in his belly and groin urged him forward. Where his friend looked at him with an expression he had never seen in her eyes—but was familiar with nonetheless. Where his very young friend was too far gone in lust and drink to know what she wanted.

He pulled back, regret battling with a shaky conviction.

"We should stop." He wondered if it sounded like a question to her as well. He hadn't even begun to get his breathing, let alone the rest of him, under control when she pressed against him again, lips meeting his neck and her words coming as murmurs between her lips and teeth and tongue working against his sensitive flesh.

"Why?" Her hands pulled at his shirt and slid beneath it. He shuddered when her fingers skimmed across his stomach, teasing at the waistband of his breeches. His hips rolled against her in an automatic response—pressing his arousal more firmly against her hip. She gasped—or maybe he did. It was getting difficult to keep thoughts straight.

"Daine," it was a plea. "We shouldn't be doing this."

"Don't worry." Her hand moved away from his stomach, travelling down. "I want to." She stretched to kiss him again, her lips barely making contact before he pulled away, grabbing her wrists with his hands and holding them away from him.

"I don't." His words came harsher than he meant them—cutting through the haziness of the night air and of the moment. This isn't how things were supposed to happen.

She blinked at him, shocked, and pulled her hands back, folding her arms against her chest. She looked so young in that moment—huddled in on herself, eyes over-bright.

"I'm sorry," she stammered and turned her head away as she was prone to do when she did not want him to see her cry. He reached out, wanting to soothe her, but she flinched and he backed off and he did not try again. "I should get to bed." She placed a hand on her door, her request for him to leave clear.

"Daine," He wanted to comfort her, wanted to ease the rejection he had inflicted on her. They could talk, in the morning, and see where things lay then. What was one more night alone? She cut him off, shaking her head.

"It really is late." She shut the door behind him and he let her, standing outside for a long moment—hoping she would open the door again. She didn't.

Numair made the long journey back to his room deep in a hazy thought—willing himself not to turn around and beg for another chance to share her bed that night. He tried not to think about what morning would bring and the lines that could not be uncrossed, and instead allowed himself to sink into the feeling of her lips on his own and her hand as it had moved against his breeches. If there was anything he knew it was that he had no business being so aroused in such cold and after so much liquor. He could not remember ever being so bewitched by another.

He clambered into bed that night with his thoughts on her, too drunk and in love to do anything but surrender to them.

______________________________________________________________

Numair rose the next morning feeling considerably older than his years. Shame battled his hangover for the torture of the day as he dragged himself through his morning routine, only grudgingly leaving his room in the early hours in hopes of resolving things with Daine as quickly as possible.

The bright side of Numair's predicament is that he was far from the only one to fall afoul a rider's party. The usually boisterous mess-hall was much quieter, and emptier, that morning. Many of those who had bothered to show up sat stonily, nibbling carefully at what they thought they could stomach. To Numair's relief some absolute saint of a person had left more shutters than usual closed. Had it not been for this predicament with Daine he would still be buried in bed. It occurred to him that he was not sure he had actually ever attended breakfast the morning after a rider's celebration before.

He spotted his young friend from across the hall, relieved that he hadn't braved the stomach-churning walk down for nothing. He fetched food-a mild porridge-and tried to ignore the nauseous feeling in the pit of his stomach. He was sure at this point it was more nerves that plagued him than the belly full of stale liquor.

He sat next to Onua, head pounding as she laughed at his condition, and offered a quiet 'good morning' which Daine returned without meeting his eye. Based on how determined she was to not look in his direction it was fair to say she remembered their exchange which was, truth be told, probably just a few hours prior.

"Well, some role models the two of you are," Onua eyed the mage, making no effort to soften her voice.

"I think you should be directing that statement at Sarge, Horse Mistress," Numair replied, just as sourly. "I blame him for at least half of what I drank last night. He's a horrible influence."

"I'm sorry, do the two of you require a chaperone to behave yourselves?"

Numair glanced at Daine just as she did the same to him, a blush that he was sure he mirrored spreading across her face.

"I wouldn't get too comfortable on that high horse," Daine shifted back to their friend, "Sarge has told me some stories about you."

"Has he?" Onua scoffed, but Daine lifted an eyebrow and continued.

"Not to mention what you've told me yourself. Seems you aren't as immune to his wiles as you'd have people think."

Numair's interest piqued at Daine's word choice, not to mention the sharp glance Onua threw at the younger woman.

"I have no idea what you're talking about," Onua placed her cup onto her tray carefully, eyes focused on her empty plate. "I see some recruits who have also made horrible decisions and need to tend to their chores. I hope you both have a rotten day." She picked up her tray and took her leave, barking at any particularly hungover and unfortunate riders in her path to follow her for stable-duty.

Numair turned his attention back to Daine, who was furiously determined to remain focused on her meal. Truth be told, he would much rather do the same. For all of his telling himself that he wanted things to get back to normal as quickly as possible, he would be lying if he said he didn't enjoy the glimmer of hope the previous night had ignited in him. Ever since he had left her rooms he had been pushing back thoughts of what would happen if that's what she did want. He didn't want that feeling to end. A tense moment passed before Numair cleared his throat and quietly interjected, "Daine."

She stopped, placing her utensils down carefully and taking a deep breath before meeting his eye. He was surprised to see them over-bright.

"Can I speak first?" There was a hesitance in her voice he wasn't familiar with. He gave a small nod, motioning for her to continue.

"I owe you an apology," her voice broke, almost imperceptible, and she looked around to see if anyone was listening, "a big one. What I did last night-" she shook her head.

"Magelet," he reached to cover her hand with his own but she moved away, placing her hands in her lap where she picked at her nails-a habit he had thought long gone.

"No, Numair," she shook her head, "If a man had pressed himself on me the way I did you-" she blushed furiously, shame evident in her entire body.

"That's not the same."

"But it is." She stared him down. "You didn't want to," she cleared her throat, and waved her hand ambiguously-not able to verbalize what had transpired between them and obviously paranoid that someone may overhear. "And I pressed on. That wasn't fair of me, or acceptable. I obviously wasn't prudent with drink and," she sighed, eyes threatening to spill embarrassed tears.

"Daine," he leaned forward, speaking softly, "there were two of us there last night and I would argue that both of us were imprudent. You have no reason to feel ashamed, sweetling." She gave him a look that left no doubt that his words were not as effective as he had hoped.

"Can you accept my apology, and if so can we just carry on as we did before?" She was truly concerned that he was the one who would be angry, a possibility that had not occurred to him. He looked at her, pausing to think over his next words.

"Is that what you want?" There were too many meanings to his words for him to process, much less express.

"Please," it was a plea if anything. He thought to reach out again, but didn't.

"Okay." He nodded, fighting to keep his disappointment from showing. When she did not look convinced he pressed on, "Whatever you want magelet. As long as you are alright, we are alright. I don't think there is anything to forgive, but I will accept your apology nonetheless."

She sighed, offering a half smile. She looked tired, and young. "I think I may try to get some more sleep. I told Onua I'd help with the mounts this afternoon and I barely made it down the hall this morning."

He laughed, "I completely understand. I'm seriously considering crawling into a stall and finding a nice pile of hay somewhere." That drew a small laugh from her-it was something. "Do you want me to walk you back?" Normally this question wouldn't make either of them think twice, but there was a beat of silence as Daine blushed and looked away.

"No, thank you. I think I'll just head back." She smiled at him and stood, turning away without a glance back. Numair took a moment to collect himself, disappointment and relief simultaneously thick in this throat. His walk back to the palace was once again pensive, and somehow lonelier than the night before.


End file.
